


Darling, I would burn down the three realms for you.

by indiavolowetrust



Series: Requests / Gifts [5]
Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Angst, Blood, F/M, Gen, Heavy Angst, M/M, Multi, Other, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-29
Updated: 2020-06-29
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:42:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,807
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24986272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indiavolowetrust/pseuds/indiavolowetrust
Summary: A war has broken out between all three realms after a millennium of political strife and unsuccessful acts of peace. You fight on the side of the Devildom amongst the brothers, despite being a human, and are tasked with fetching an artifact that will turn the tides of war. In a divine temple, you stare up at the blade of an angel. Oneshot.
Relationships: Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Female Character(s), Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Male Character(s), Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader
Series: Requests / Gifts [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1817206
Comments: 18
Kudos: 59





	Darling, I would burn down the three realms for you.

You had wondered what an angel had looked like, once. Before you fell into the Devildom, before the terrible war between the Devildom and the Celestial Realm began, you had expected them to look much like those in the baroque paintings you had seen in museums. Chubby, rosy-cheeked cherubim, each one flying over the cradle of some blessed babe. Plump, beautiful women, their arms splayed out in a tasteful garden. Arresting figures composed of light. Wonderful beings with immaculate wings, golden halos, and a gaze that burns with the justice of the heavens.

And all those things just so happen to be true. Perhaps if you were not staring down the halberd of an angelic priestess at the moment, you might even appreciate the beauty.

“State your name and regiment, traitor,” demands the three-faced angel, all facets of her visage contorted in disgust. The fiery rings that encircle her head blaze with the fury of a thousand lesser divine creatures, each one spinning in perpetual motion. Her alabaster body is poised before you in a perfect fighting stance. “Do this, and I shall consider sparing you.”

You swallow. The tip of her halberd is so close to your throat that it grazes the skin there as you do so, drawing blood. Your armor blossoms with the drop of blood, the crimson staining itself deep into the fabric. You make a note to request Lord Diavolo for a cake of soap whence you return to the Devildom. If you survive this, that is.

Despite your fear, you hold all three of her gazes. She huffs with impatience.

“Out with it!” she snarls. “Or do you prefer that I --”

An uproar comes from behind her. It appears that the battlefield has encroached deeper into the lands of the Celestial Realm, judging by the shouts of soldiers and clashing of metal. She turns her head instinctively, her attention captured by the disturbance for a moment.

It is an opening.

You shove the shaft of her halberd aside, rolling just in time to avoid her thrusting strike. The metal embeds itself deep into the white marble, providing you another opportunity, and you procure your own sword from the scabbard at your side. The angel scowls at you. She wrenches the halberd from the marble with inhuman strength, levelling it at you once more -- but this time, you have the advantage of distance between yourself and the divine being. While you may not have any skill in sorcery like Solomon or the raw strength of a demon, you have more than enough determination and deftness to make up for it. You have more than enough stubbornness than you should have as well.

And so it is with this confidence that you face the angel. Neither of you dare to make the first move. A long moment passes, the sounds of the battlefield only coming closer and closer. The angel knows this, her senses much sharper than yours, and she smirks.

You’re running out of time. If you don’t incapacitate her soon, your efforts in stealing the divine artifact will be in vain. The divine artifact could very well be the catalyst of the war -- and here you are, barely able to fend off a divine priestess. It is no wonder that you were not allowed to join the fray.

You need to think, and you need to think fast. The war will not be won without the artifact. As demons cannot enter such a holy place without endangerment, the mission of fetching it was entrusted to you. The tides of war will change in the demons’ favor the moment you take it outside of the divine temple. You scour your panicked thoughts for something, anything that should or could work.

And then you decide. It is a wholly stupid, brash idea, but it is an idea.

“What’s wrong?” you taunt the angel, flourishing your sword before her. “Scared you’ll lose to a human?”

Her grip tightens on her halberd, nearly cracking the shaft. All semblance of the priestess’ restraint seems to have dissipated in the span of a moment. All three of her faces twist in what can only be described as blinding rage. You prepare yourself.

“Why you -- you --” the divine fire of her halos intensifies, nearly singeing the edge of a tapestry, “ **\-- YOU INSOLENT BRUTE! WORTHLESS ANIMAL! BURN!** ”

She lunges forward. Again you manage to dodge the blow, shifting to one side, but the priestess angles herself at the last moment. The tip of her halberd pierces the flesh of your thigh, preventing you from moving further in the direction of the artifact. You cry out in pain. The priestess plants a kick on your sternum to release your body from the blade, treating you as if you were truly a mindless beast, and it is only a second before you feel your body crack against the stone wall behind you. The world goes white.

When your vision finally clears -- perhaps after a second or so -- you discern the angel standing before you as she had before. This time, however, her halberd is raised much higher in the air, and her eyes burn with murderous intent. Whereas she may have spared your life before or left for you dead, you are sure that she would much rather burn you alive this time. The entirety of the halberd ignites, divine flames engulfing the weapon. The blaze is reflected in all three of her gazes.

The angel looks upon you with terrible disdain. Your body seizes with cold, abject fear.

“May you rest in peace.”

And then she thrusts the weapon downwards. Your skin can already feel the kiss of the heat. You close your eyes and accept your fate, readying yourself for the impact.

It never comes.

There is the sensation of air. The sound of unfurling wings, the scent of rose water, the silhouette of a slender, almost girlish body pressed against yours. You hear the crack of a blade colliding into marble once more, spat-out curses of the angel, and the soft laughter of one that you know so well. The flame of your pact burns, signalling the proximity of one of the demons. Unlike the holy fire of the angels -- which only devours and takes -- this one is much more similar to the gentle warmth of a candle. A small, unobtrusive wick, ignited.

You open your eyes to see a very, very familiar face.

Asmodeus grins down at you. “Came just in time, didn’t I?”

“Asmo, you -- you shouldn’t be here!” Your eyes widen at the realization of the pain that Asmodeus must have subjected himself to -- a fact that is only proven by the divine air nibbling at his flesh. The wounds burn and knit themselves over and over again as you regard him with horror. “Get out of here! If you stay here, you’ll --”

Asmo silences you with a quick peck on the lips. Hushes you. Despite the excruciating pain he must be in, he only continues to smile at you. A finger brushes away a stray lock at your cheek.

“You don’t have to fight for me,” he says softly. “Darling, I would burn down the three realms for you.”

You discern the shape of the angelic priestess standing to full height somewhere behind Asmo. Asmo follows your gaze before placing you gently on the ground. A book -- the artifact, you realize -- is pressed into your hands. You can only watch as Asmo turns to face his opponent, a demonic weapon already materializing into his hands. His palms are blistered and raw.

The angelic priestess regards Asmo with pure, unfiltered hatred, slamming her halberd against the ground. “Disgraced, wretched creature,” she addresses him. “If only He could see you now. If only He could see how putrid and repulsive you have become. We were all sure you and your brothers had perished when we cast you out from the heavens, demon. I see now that you have suffered a much worse fate.”

Asmo only laughs. “I believe this human here would disagree on the repulsive part,” he says, now brandishing his own weapon. “In my opinion, I’m much more beautiful now than I ever was up here.”

Asmo catches and parries the priestess’ halberd in an instant, doing his best to maneuver her away from you. It is a decision that costs him: the divine blaze of her spear singes his skin, causing him to wince -- but he does not relent. With a well-placed attack of his own, he is able to push her away from both you and the exit of the temple. Given that the priestess has made no move to stop you, it seems that she has not realized yet that the artifact is in your possession.

Asmo casts only the barest of glances towards you and the exit. You need no further encouragement.

Time passes in a blur. Yet you are able to hold onto the sensation of your pact with Asmo, the sign burning as brightly and vividly as a flame. As long as you can hold onto that part of your conscience, the proof that Asmo is still alive and fighting, you can push yourself forward. And so you clutch the artifact to your chest and run forward, your vision becoming blurry and unfocused from the loss of blood. You stagger to the exit of the temple and feel your body being pulled to some hiding place by an ally, your thoughts still concentrated on the flame. Even as the war rages around you, the shouts of angels and cries of the devils hammering in your ears, you are at peace with the sensation.

Something is pressed and tied around your bleeding thigh. You begin to fade in and out of consciousness.

Your leg twitches. A demon -- Mammon, perhaps, or Beel -- says something to you, soft and encouraging. You can’t discern the message.

A rattle shakes you nearly to waking. You can’t feel your leg anymore. Perhaps it has fallen asleep.

There is something wet next to you. Something is being taken away from you, something important, but a nagging feeling at the back of your mind tells you that it would be better not to resist. You allow the object to be lifted from your hands.

Your body is being moved elsewhere. You have long lost the ability to fight it. Your incapacitated form is carried and given to someone else, the ground moving beneath you, and then --

And then.

Your eyelids flicker. The fire of that pact that had once burned within you becomes extinguished. You reach for it, desperate, but it only fades to nothing. A flame, smothered. It fights again and again, struggling to keep itself ignited -- but then there is a final show of force. The air of an execution.

The candle goes out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Leave a comment, if you would like to do so.


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